


An Old Meeting: An Assassin's Creed One Shot

by skysonfire



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Abstergo Industries, Assassin's Creed movie, Assasssin's Creed one shot, F/M, From spain to norway, Genetic Memory, I haven't written in a long time, Love Story, Michael Fassbender - Freeform, One Shot, Spanish brotherhood, The Animus (Assassin's Creed)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 12:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10899600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire





	An Old Meeting: An Assassin's Creed One Shot

Sometimes, in the late dark, it's hard to tell if he's Callum or Aguliar. He sits on floor, pensive and stoic -- she can't decipher in which world he's breathing -- in which he's seeing. He looks tired. His fingers are loosely linked over his knees and his eyes are red-rimmed. It's the exhaustion fighting for rights in his mind. It seeps into his sight, and the blue of his vision radiates and fights through a haze of trouble, purpose and despair.

She kneels silently before him, pulling in her elbows and tucking her hair behind her ears. She moistens her lips nervously because she feels it, too. She is different than he is, though, and her bond to the past is not nearly as resolute. Sometimes she wonders why she is even there -- what difference she could possibly make. Then she wonders if that type of thinking got her killed in the first place. There's a sudden pang in her back where the arrow had found its mark in another lifetime.

"Cal?" She asks, and her voice cracks. It only makes her heart pound more intently.

He pushes his head back against the wall and looks down his nose at her. She notices the way his throat moves in his neck right before he's about to speak -- the way his jaw clenches under the delicate blanket of sandy-red stubble.

He exhales and squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment before leaning forward to her.

"You always come along when I can't seem to find my way." His face is unchanging and she can't tell if he's angry or grateful.

"It's disturbing to lose your way out there," she replies, her chest burning.

"Yeah," he replies, and like a striking viper, his fingers advance and grip for the back of her neck. He digs in hard. She gasps, and the world around her moves and shakes. She wants to shut her eyes, but the veil of time moves before her, and she sees sands and oceans and forests and snow. A burning sun; red brick and cobblestone. There's a bird singing and water splashing in a fountain. Someone is laughing and a baby cries. She hates this part, and when she can no longer bear it, she rends her eyes closed.

Although the spinning stops she continues to shake. She can still feel his hand on her neck, but there is a different smell in the air now. Something like early thawed earth. There is a chilly swirl all about, but the sun is a warm disc burning its way through the tall pines that surround them.

"I know you," she whispers, even before she opens her eyes. "We know each other from before." It's a revelation, and her voice echoes her astonishment.

She allows her senses to accept the light and she sees him there. The familiar markings on his face, the worn hood and dirty leather boots. Those hard and unyielding gauntlets; instruments of ends.

"I was afraid you wouldn't remember after all this time." She hears his voice both close and distant; both in the tongue she knows and the one that's lost on her with its speed and beautiful rolling letters.

"Cal," she says, because she wants him to be Cal. She weaves herself through time with an easy innocence, and she can tell it's confusing for him. It's always confusing for them when it's so natural for her.

He touches her lips with his thumb before leaning forward to kiss her. He's gentle, and there is a calm sensation in his movements. Something about his ease is so pointed -- sharp. Her head feels filled with water, and her pulse throbs in her neck.

She slips her fingers under the wide belt that keeps his tunic in place and she thinks about the flawless skin beneath all those fibers and tested burlap. The way his refined muscles move under that milky covering. She wants to feel the knotty tension of them, flexing to manipulate her; to ease her yearning.

He works her closer to him and they balance on their knees in the wood. He forces her mouth open and tastes her with a vibrating desire. She places her one hand on the side of his face; the other she rests, palm up, on his chest, which is heaving now. A breeze catches them, and the sun finds itself behind a cloud.

"Always in the dark," she whispers, a smile coloring her pale lips.

He returns her smile cautiously, snaking his hand along her side before resting it on her hip.

"These moments," he pauses and wick his lips along the shell of her ear, but his words fall away and as she watches him, the lines that define his shape begin to blur.

"No," she pleads quietly, but time spins about them. The forest floor is transmuted into a layer of tile beneath her knees, and she is across from him once again. She looks up from her knees, her jaw slightly slacked, despite the resolution of her nerves. 

He simply smirkes at her, his mouth upturned at the side, and he glances toward the window through which the tiniest pin of morning light streams and pools between them.

"These moments." He says.


End file.
